


Taken

by Yami_Faerie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brainwashing, Dubious Science, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Kidnapping, Men of Letters Bunker, Post-Episode: s11e23 Alpha and Omega
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-07-24 20:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7522630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yami_Faerie/pseuds/Yami_Faerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-11.23 "Alpha and Omega". Dean has to come to terms with the gift Amara gave him while dealing with the fact that Sam is missing. Who took him? Where did he go? Can his resurrected mother be of any help to her son and his angel?</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Sam faces the wrath of the Men of Letters' London chapter. What judgement will they pass against Sam? And what will happen to him if they learn that Dean is not actually dead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amara's Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Jared Padalecki said in an interview that Sam was definitely shot by Lady Bevell at the end of the season finale. He also said that it didn't look like Sam was getting tortured — yet. With those few words, this fic was born. Please, let me know if you like it or not!

Dean stared at Mary, heart racing, mind screaming disbelief and awe and shock and — “Mom,” he breathed.

She stared back at him. “You,” she spoke softly, and then her face hardened. “You’re that Hunter! The one from the night that I — when I —”

“When you made a deal with the Yellow-Eyed Demon to save John’s life,” Dean said woodenly. That seemed so long ago. Mary still remembered that? “I wasn’t entirely honest back then.”

Mary raised her eyebrows. “Oh really,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Where am I? Where are my sons? Where’s John?”

Crap. “Uh, okay,” Dean sighed. “First off, no clue where we are. Next one…” He scrubbed his face. “My name is Dean.”

“I know that.”

“Dean Winchester.”

Mary froze at that. “No,” she whispered.

“My name is Dean Winchester,” Dean told her. “My birthday is January 24, 1979. I have a little brother named Sam, born May 2, 1983. We lived in Lawrence, Kansas and drove Dad’s 1967 Chevy Impala everywhere even though you originally wanted him to buy an ugly-ass piece of crap van.”

Mary kept staring at him, mouth slightly agape.

“When I would get sick,” Dean continued, “you would make me tomato and rice soup because that’s what your mom used to make you. And at night, you would sing ‘Hey Jude’ instead of a lullaby because that’s your favorite song.”

His mother still didn’t say anything.

“The night that Sam turned six months old, you and Dad put me and Sam to bed, same as always, but then you got up that night and found the demon standing over Sam’s crib.” It had been like pulling teeth to get Sam to tell him about when Azazel had revealed what had happened that night. “You walked in, realized what was going on, and the demon stuck you on the ceiling and slashed your stomach right over my baby brother.”

“Oh God,” Mary whispered. “How do you know all of that?”

“Because when Sam turned 24, the demon told him what happened,” Dean admitted. “You walked in on him feeding Sam demon’s blood and he killed you for it.” Dean took a hesitant step forward. “Dad raised me and Sam to hunt, same as your folks did.”

“Dean,” Mary gasped. “No, please stop.”

“Mom, it’s the year 2016.”

Mary shook her head and turned away. “I can’t — oh god, Dean, I’m so sorry!”

Dean couldn’t stand it anymore. He strode forward and turned his mother to face him. She stared up at him with the same sort of wonder she had when he and Sam had tried to stop Anna the angel from killing her and John. She sniffed. “You’re so tall,” she whispered.

Chuckling despite himself, Dean said, “Sam’s a friggin’ _giant_ compared to me.”

Mary let out a sound that was part laughter and part sobbing, and crushed Dean in an embrace he hadn’t felt for so, so long. He clung back, breathing in deeply, Mary’s scent reigniting so many memories of home and safety, playing outside, watching Mary sing softly to Sam —

“Crap, Sammy,” Dean said, pulling back and reaching for his cell phone. “I’ve gotta find service, Sam probably thinks I’m dead right now.”

“What?” Mary gaped at Dean for a second. “Dean, what’s going on?”

“Uh, long story,” Dean offered, glaring at his phone’s refusal to pick up a signal. “We’ve gotta get moving, I need to find service, figure out where we are, and call Sam.”

“Service?”

“Right, uh, technology took a major leap over the last 30-odd years,” Dean said. “This is my phone. Cell phone, cellular device, magic thing that’s _not_ a walkie-talkie. Point is, it’s got GPS so I can figure out where we are, but without a signal, I can’t figure that out, so we’ve gotta get moving.”

Dean looked Mary up and down, taking in the nightgown, her bare feet. “We gotta find you something else to wear, too,” he said.

Mary looked down at herself. “You’re right,” she sighed. “Well, let’s go.” She turned and started walking, Dean following. “You gonna tell me this long story you keep alluding to?” she tossed over her shoulder.

Dean grimaced. “Honestly, I’d rather Sam was with us before I go into that.”

“What about your dad?”

Dean swallowed. “He’s uh, he’s dead. For about ten years now.”

Mary stopped and turned to look at Dean. “Was it a hunt?”

Dean looked away, unable to face his mom. “The demon that killed you,” was all he was able to offer.

After a moment, Mary’s hand was on Dean’s arm, squeezing it softly. “I’m sorry,” Mary whispered.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Me, too. Let’s go.” And he forged ahead.


	2. Judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam meets the Men of Letters, London chapter. It doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I already know this fic isn't gonna pan perfectly with what the writers of the show have in store, but I don't like to leave my stories unfinished. Please read and review!

“So, Samuel Winchester.”

“It’s Sam,” Sam ground out, glaring at the man in the shadows.

“Of course,” the man said, accent tinted with droll amusement, “my mistake. Do you know why you are here?”

Sam glanced down at the handcuffs around his wrists and ankles, binding him to a very uncomfortable chair that was under the only real source of light in the room. Very cliché. He shifted in his seat and winced as the wound where Lady Antonia Bevell (douchy name, ugh) had shot him made itself known.

The bullet had pierced his left leg, and it had taken way too long for Sam to really comprehend and react to it. Lady Toni had ordered Sam to stand down after that, but he had flat-out refused.

Why not let her finish the job that Cas would never have let him do?

Then another figure had stepped out of the shadows with a tranq gun and used it to knock Sam out. When he had come to, it was to find himself cuffed inside a car, wound poorly bandaged and Toni’s gun still pointing at him. He’d been stuffed inside a plane, flown to the UK, and then knocked out again so he would have no way whatsoever of figuring out where he was now located.

Basically, he was screwed.

“We were sorry to hear of your brother’s passing,” the man in the shadows said. Sam snorted.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” he replied dryly. “You’re just disappointed that you don’t get to come down on the both of us with your high and mighty act.”

“It is you and your brother who have acted high and mighty, messing in things you’d be better off leaving alone,” another voice spoke up.

Sam shrugged. “Not gonna argue with you there. I mean, I started the Apocalypse and let the Darkness loose.”

“One act was done as an easily manipulated addict,” came Lady Toni’s voice from somewhere behind Sam. “The other was the result of your inability to care about anyone or anything else but your brother.”

Sam wasn’t surprised that they knew all of that. “I know,” he said. “I did stop the Apocalypse. And the conflict with the Darkness is over.”

“But what of Eve, or the Leviathans?” asked the first man to have spoken. “What of the angels who fell, the demons who stole innocent souls? This world has been put in peril too many times as a result of you and your brother’s unhealthy obsession with each other.”

Sam looked down at the cuffs on his wrists. “I know,” he repeated quietly.

“So the question now, is what do we do with you?”

Sam didn’t care much what they decided.

“Sam is rather unique among humans,” another man said from somewhere behind Sam. “He has the blood of Hunters, Men of Letters, and demons.”

“I don’t think the demon part’s there, anymore,” Sam cut in. “When I attempted the Trials —”

“Attempted being the key word,” said Lady Toni. “Your lack of success and near-death have likely allowed traces to remain.”

Great. Still tainted.

“There’s also the fact that you were made to be the perfect vessel of the archangel Lucifer,” said the last man to have spoken. “Our scientists have had ample opportunity to study the vessels of angels, but never have they had the chance to study the vessel of an _archangel._ Every last one we’ve ever known of is either beyond our reach, or destroyed.”

Sam really didn’t like where this seemed to be going.

“Yet, here you sit, having successfully held the essence of the _devil_ himself, mind still intact and body whole.”

“I wouldn’t really say that —” Sam tried to put in.

“We’re aware of your period of insanity,” the man cut him off, “and we know it was due to being locked in the Cage with Lucifer. That is entirely separate from what could have happened to you.”

“You’re talking about Raphael’s first host,” Sam realized. “He was left a vegetable when Raphael wasn’t possessing him.”

They knew too, _too_ much.

“It would be… _interesting_ to know what it is exactly that makes the Winchester bloodline so much stronger than any other.”

Sam fought to control his breathing. This couldn’t be happening. This was —

This was worse than just death.

“I believe we are all in agreement, then?” said the first man, rising from his seat. “It would seem there is much to be learned from Samuel.”

Sam’s blood ran cold. “It’s Sam,” he said, voice sounding distant to his ears because of the panic rising inside.

“Yes, yes, of course. Milady, if you could oversee the transportation of our newest specimen.”

“Right away,” Lady Toni spoke, and before Sam could muster the strength to fight, someone had appeared with a needle and slid it into his skin.

The world faded, and Sam knew he’d never know freedom ever again.


	3. Bootstrap Paradox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let y'all know, I am starting a new job this upcoming Wednesday as a fifth-grade teacher. I'm brand-new, freshly graduated and stuff, so updates will probably be on the slim side as I try to balance my new job, writing, and my family (mom of two sweet little boys!). Thanks to those who have read and commented!

“Finally!” Dean crowed, stopping at the edge of a small town. “Okay, looks like we’re in Oregon. Didn’t expect that. Let’s see…” Dean found Sam’s name in his contacts and pressed it to call his brother.

It rang through to voicemail.

So did Castiel’s phone.

That wasn’t good.

“Dean?” Mary asked hesitantly.

“I can’t get ahold of Sam,” Dean said. “Something’s wrong, I know it is.” He looked at the sleepy little town. “Okay, let’s find you something to wear, then I’ll jack a car so we can get back to the bunker.”

“Bunker?” Mary asked.

“Oh, uh, long —”

“Long story,” Mary said with raised eyebrows, “so I’ve heard.”

Dean shrugged sheepishly and led the way. Within an hour, he had a workable outfit for his mother, found a Honda Civic to steal, and he and Mary were on their way back to Kansas.

“How did you know that I wanted your dad to buy a van?” Mary asked abruptly.

“Uh, cause I… Crap, look, remember how you always told me that angels were watching over me?”

Mary nodded.

“Well, angels are just as real as demons, and one of them sent me back in time to learn about the deal you made with the demon.” Mary flinched slightly, but Dean pressed on. “I happened to find Dad at the car dealership, and I uh, I convinced him that the Impala was better than the van.”

Mary was silent, and Dean chanced a glance at her. She shook her head. “I’m guessing he raised you to love that old thing as much as he did,” she said.

Dean grinned. “Sure did. I think Sam calls this kinda thing a bootstrap something or other?”

“Bootstrap?”

Dean chuckled. “Sam’s a total nerd, knows all kinds of things, reads books all the time, likes to categorize stuff, the works. But basically, it means you don’t know where something actually originated. Dad probably woulda bought the van if I hadn’t been there, but I never woulda loved that car if Dad hadn’t bought it, only I'm the one who convinced him _to_ buy it.”

“Ah,” Mary said. “A causal loop.”

"I think Sam called it a Bootstrap Paradox, but yeah," Dean nodded. “I’m guessing you’re a bookworm, too?”

Mary laughed. “He certainly didn’t get his love of reading from John, I’m sure of that.”

Except John was of the lineage of the Men of Letters. Go figure.

“Can… can you at least tell me how John got into hunting?” Mary asked hesitantly. “I made sure not to keep anything that would make him suspicious, I just wanted it leave it all behind…”

“I know,” Dean said. “It… He knew something wasn’t right, the way you died, but no one believed him until he found a psychic in town named Missouri.”

“I know of her,” Mary said with surprise in her voice. “My uncle called when she moved into town to warn me, told me to keep an eye on her, but I told him to leave me out of the business. I wanted nothing to do with any of it.”

“Keep an eye on her?” Dean echoed. “Wow, those Campbells…”

“John never met any of them after I died?”

Dean shook his head. “We know one of your uncles insisted on making a grave marker for you, but then we never heard a word from any of them.” He hesitated. “A demon showed up years later and said the yellow-eyed demon killed a bunch of the Campbell’s after he got you. We met some second- and third-cousins a few years ago, but they’re all gone now.”

Mary said nothing for almost too long. “Why did the demon do all of that?”

Dean snorted. “Cause Sammy was his favorite. I just — Mom, I don’t wanna tell you more without Sam.”

“I know,” Mary said. “So, this Missouri told John what happened?”

“He took her into Sam’s room, and she said that real evil had been in there,” Dean sighed. “Dad sold off his half of the auto shop along with all the money you guys had saved up for college funds, and bought supplies. We’ve been on the road ever since.” He picked up his phone and tried to call Sam again. Still nothing.

“Where are you, Sammy?” he asked the voicemail. “I’m not dead. Call me!” He ended the call and tried Castiel again.

“Dean?”

“Oh, thank G- I mean, I’m glad you picked up, Cas,” Dean said, hastily skipping past the word he’d almost said because well, weird. “Where are you? Where’s Sam?”

“You’re alive,” Castiel said instead of answering. “We thought for sure that you…” He cleared his throat. “Dean, you need to get the bunker.”

“I’m already on my way,” Dean said. “Why, what’s going on? Is Sam —?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel answered, and Dean’s heart stuttered. “Dean, I — there was someone there, they knew how to banish angels and I was sent away. I don’t know what happened to Sam.”

Oh no.

_Sam…_

“Where are you?” Dean asked thickly.

“In a city called Tuscaloosa,” Castiel answered. “You?”

“Oregon, dammit,” Dean cursed. “Cas, I need you to get back there ASAP.”

“I’m looking for a car to steal right now,” Castiel answered. “Dean, what happened? We saw that Chuck vanished from the bar —”

“It was Amara,” Dean said quickly. “She just wanted her brother back, wanted her family whole again. That’s what I want right now, so I need you to hurry.”

“I will,” Castiel promised. “Are you sure you’re okay, Dean?”

“Oh, I’m aces right now,” Dean said sarcastically. “Can’t reach my little brother, Chuck and Amara are off having a family reunion, and oh, Amara decided to give me what I want most and brought my mom back to life!”

Castiel was silent for a moment. “Your mother is alive?”

“Yeah, riding shotgun and confused as hell,” Dean answered, glancing at his mother for a moment. “I don’t even know _how_ Amara knew, but here she is.”

“That’s… incredible, Dean,” Castiel said. “I have found a car to steal. I hope to be at the bunker in a few hours.”

“Okay, Cas. Call me as soon as you get there.” Dean ended the call and rubbed a hand over his mouth.

“I’m what you wanted most?” Mary ventured. Dean swallowed hard.

“I wanted a normal life with you,” he admitted. “I wanted my little brother to know what an amazing mom we had after years of him barely daring to ask any questions and thinking it was all his fault —”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“No,” Dean said. “It was yours.” He didn’t want to say it, but her choice to make that deal had led them down a dark, horrible, twisted path. “Do — do you remember being stuck in our house as a ghost and taking on the poltergeist —”

“Vaguely, yes,” Mary whispered. “It feels like it was a dream.”

There was a long moment of silence. “Dean,” Mary said, “I know it doesn’t change or fix anything, but I had no idea what the demon wanted when it asked me to make the deal. It had snapped John’s neck and I — it was so vague, and I just wanted _out_ of that life —”

“Mom,” Dean cut her off. “I don’t… Honestly, I’m not in a position to point fingers. The things Sam and I have done for each other… I mean, I get it. And honestly, the demon probably wouldn’t’ve gone after you if me showing up with Dad’s intel hadn’t put you and your dad right in its path. Stupid angels,” he added darkly. “They told me I had to stop it, and instead I basically started it.”

“Causal loop,” Mary said quietly.

“Yeah,” Dean said just as quietly. “I guess so.”


	4. The Specimen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a short offering for you all. I have an idea of the direction this story is going to go in, but it's gonna take some time to get there. Being a first-year teacher is insanely difficult! Depsite what I'd hoped, I'm spending upwards of 11-12 hours at my job every day, teaching and then preparing future material for my fifth graders. My own children are so excited to see me when I come home that most of the time I can't think for a second about writing!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

White.

Everything was white.

Too much white.

Sam groaned, blinking heavily, trying to focus. White walls. White bed. White clothes. White restraints holding him down.

White white white white

It was too much like before. Sam almost expected to see Lucifer taunting him, telling him it had all been a sham, that Castiel had never saved him, that he was still crazy, still dying, still —

The only door to the room abruptly opened and a team of people swarmed the room, faces obscured by surgical masks. Sam wanted to fight, wanted to scream, but he was so muddled _(probably drugged to the gills)_ and he couldn’t do more than moan as he was manhandled out of the bed and onto a gurney, the people barely speaking, just touching, pushing, locking him down, rolling him out of the white room and into a white white white hallway, bright lights in the ceiling blinding Sam. He pulled on the restraints on his wrists, felt fear when they were tight and unyielding.

The gurney banged into one, two, three sets of double doors, pushing them open, and then —

“Ah, our newest specimen!” said a crisp, British voice. Male, maybe mid-fourties? Sam still couldn’t see well enough to know for sure. “Nurse, are you ready with the IV?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, let’s get him transferred over to the table and start taking samples. Gentlemen, if you would?”

Sam felt the restraints come loose, and he moved, shooting upright and nailing the person closest to him in the face. Immediately, three more people surged forward, grabbing Sam’s limbs and forcing him to hold still while he shouted, cursed at them. “Let me go!” he cried out as he was moved to the table, taking in instruments of science and surgery and oh, no, please no no no no no —

He was restrained again, a needle sliding into his arm to place an IV, another piercing his other arm, sample tubes of his blood passing across his face —

“Just relax,” said the doctor from somewhere above his head. “The testing and exploration go by much quicker if you cooperate.”

“No,” Sam said. “Please, don’t —!”

Another needle slid into his neck. “It’s not going to do what we say,” said another voice, also male. “It has a long history of fighting on in the face of adversity.”

“But the tests run better when the subjects cooperate.”

“I promise you, this one won’t.”

And then the world grew hazy yet again. Sam tried to force out pleas, tried to beg to be left alone, but the words slurred and blended into moans and sobs.

Voices spoke, left and right, telling him what to do, when to hold still, when to speak. Sam couldn’t stop himself, he obeyed, body moving when he wished it wouldn’t, doing things even when he could no longer understand what the voices were saying. Just obeying. He was nothing more than a puppet, his strings held by people who had forgotten what it meant to be human.

And then it was all dust in the wind.


	5. Not Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this story has not been forgotten! I'm mostly settled into my new job as a teacher, but my workload is still pretty large. This story is pretty much AU for sure now, and it will firmly stay that way. If there are any aspects of the current season that you'd like to see incorporated into this story, leave a comment and I'll see if I can fit it in somewhere. Otherwise, prepare for an interesting ride!

Dean’s phone started ringing a couple hours later, startling both him and Mary. Dean quickly snatched it up, trying to stuff down his disappointment that it was Cas calling and not Sam. “Cas?” he asked as soon as he answered.

“Sam isn’t here.”

Dean’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Any signs of what happened after you got evicted?”

“There isn’t much to go on, but…”

“But what, Cas?”

“There’s a bullet casing and some blood from almost right where Sam was when I left him.”

Someone shot Sam.

“Someone shot Sam?” Dean snarled.

“And sedated him, I just found a tranquilizer dart under the table.”

Dean swore violently, not even caring that his mother was sitting next to him. “Check the entire bunker for clues, Cas,” he finally got out. “We’re just entering Utah, so we’ll be there by sundown.” He ended the call without waiting for an answer and chucked his phone into the dashboard. It bounced, Mary only just catching it.

“Dean?”

“Someone took Sammy,” Dean said, unable to look at his mother. “They shot him, they knocked him out, and they _took_ him from me!”

Mary didn’t say anything for some time. “Let me drive,” she finally spoke. “You’re exhausted, you need to rest.”

“I’ll rest when I find Sam.”

“Definitely your father’s son,” Mary sighed. “Rest now, then you’ll have more energy to find Sam when we get there.” She paused. “Where are we going?”

“Lebanon, Kansas,” Dean answered.

“I can get us there,” Mary said. “Please, let me do some of the driving, Dean.”

He wanted to say no, to keep driving, keep going, but he _was_ tired. “Okay,” Dean said reluctantly, pulling over. “Just — are you sure you can handle a ’95 Civic?”

Mary swatted his arm. “If it’s automatic, it’s no problem.”

Fair enough, Dean thought. He switched seats with his mother and tried to do his best to get comfortable as she took over at the wheel.

Before he knew it, he had drifted off to the lull of the gently shifting car and classic rock on the radio.

* * *

 

“We have learned through our studies that not every human is capable of being vessel to an angel,” a voice said from somewhere, but Sam would be damned if he could figure out where.

_Move here, stop there, blood sample here, prod and poke there, maybe his brain, hold off for now, eat some food, new IV, more drugs, hold him down, stress tests, run, walk, jump, obey, Sam isn’t human anymore, he’s just a thing to be studied under the scientific microscope._

This was worse than suicide would’ve been. Sam just wanted to follow Dean into the Empty where Billie would have thrown him after saving the world. Dean didn’t deserve that, not with that kind of sacrifice.

Sam did. He knew it with absolute certainty. Better the Empty than this.

“Quite of bit of our research seems to indicate that the potential is inherited through bloodlines like any other genetic feature, but only certain bloodlines have the potential, and Samuel’s is stronger, _purer_ than any other we’ve ever seen.”

“What of the demon’s blood he was given as a baby?”

“It’s gone, or at least we think it is. I would like to have it tested by a vampire or a ghoul to confirm.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to procure some demon’s blood and see if he reacts as he did before?”

“I would advise against it. He only used those powers against demons, but I believe there would unintended side effects if we tried after this many years.”

Sam didn’t want blood. He was _clean_ , he had to be after everything he did for those Trials, right?

Blood blood blood

Bleed bleed bleed

“Is the subject currently conscious?”

“Yes. Lucid? I’m not so sure.”

“It matters not. Samuel?”

“Sssammm,” Sam slurred, forcing his eyes open. “G’way.”

“Still wanting to fight, I see,” a man in a crisp suit and tie said, leaning in close. Sam leveled his best bitch face at him, and he chuckled. “Even with drugs, he’s still got spirit! I like him.”

Sam turned his head away and closed his eyes. He just wanted it to end.

The men took their leave, their voices fading with them, and Sam was left in the white room, all alone.


End file.
